


Can You Hold Me?

by Sleeping4tNight



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 20:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleeping4tNight/pseuds/Sleeping4tNight
Summary: A kingdoms AU for JayTim secret santa for redkrowe on tumblr.





	Can You Hold Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k_rowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_rowe/gifts).



> I am so very sorry this was late. I didn't get around to everything I wanted to do, so maybe if I ever have the time in the future it'll end up longer.

The first time Tim saw him, the thief in the deep red hooded cloak was loosening the wheels from the carriage his family was traveling in. There had been a block in the road ahead of them, and Lord and Lady Drake had left their son alone while they went to supervise their clearance. It shouldn’t have been a problem, after all there was a town nearby and Tim was almost ten. Even if there had been a huge risk of thieves Tim would have been able to use the “gun” his majesty King Bruce had gifted to some of his trusted nobility. As nice as the metal contraption looked, Tim would have trusted a knife more.

 

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to go for either weapon when he looked out the window and saw a figure covered in a red cloak hunched by the wheels. Confused, Tim had leaned out the window to get a better look at the strange thief. At that same moment, the thief seemed to sense he was being watched and whipped his head up, bringing a knife up and nearly grazing the side of Tim’s throat. As he did, his red hood fell off, and in the next moment, two pairs of blue eyes met and widened in surprise. The thief couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Tim, and he seemed to realize that at the same time as Tim. 

 

Loud swearing from one of the Drake’s drivers broke the thief out of his apparent trance and his face hardened as he put more pressure behind the blade. Tim only raised one eyebrow and tilted his head, leaving his neck open in challenge. The boy hesitated only a moment more, flicking his eyes away from Tim once before tugging his hood back over his face and sheathing his knife. Tim barely had time to blink before the boy was gone, seemingly into thin air. 

 

A second later, his parents returned to the carriage and the Drakes were on their way again without even a whispered mention of any red hood. Tim thought he might have imagined it, but he blinked at the sight of red in a bush alongside the road. 

 

That night, upon returning to their estate, Tim immediately retired to his rooms. Even so, it seemed there was no number of stone walls that could drown out his mother’s shrieking, “It’s gone! They’re all gone!” or the sound of glass shattering somewhere else on the bedroom floors. Huddling tighter into his blankets, Tim sent himself to sleep with the memory of blue eyes and flashes of a red hood.

~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”

 

The next time Tim saw the red hood, it was when he least expected it. He was fourteen by then, and had grown into the role of noble son that was expected of him. At least, well enough that his parents hadn’t suspected the truth of his pastimes: training in stealth and swordplay, as well as searching for the boy in the red hood. 

 

It seemed all his searching had been pointless, because on the day of Tim’s mother’s funeral, the boy in the red hood was lurking on the outskirts of the chapel room, watching the proceedings with dark eyes. As Tim approached him, he saw pronounced dark circles beneath the boys eyes, along with the other signs of his aging. His skin was darker than it had been five years ago, or maybe Tim just hadn’t paid enough attention then. His jaw had squared out, and his black curls were now shot through with white in the front. Two things were the same as they had been in Tim’s memory: the blue of the red hood’s eyes was just as vibrant, and the hood itself was the same one, judging by how he was no longer drowning in fabric.

 

Tim had changed too. He was still slender, still pale and quiet, but his clothes hid muscles now instead of bones. Now, Tim could see the weapons hidden under the red hooded cloak like he had a sixth sense for it. Now Tim had a few weapons of his own at his disposal.

 

“Here for the family?” Tim murmured as he stepped to the red hood’s side like he belonged there. 

 

“I’m here for  _ a _ family.” the red hood took his gaze from the funeral attendees to consider Tim, a small smirk playing across his lips. For a moment, Tim might almost believe he wasn’t as exhausted as he seemed. A less trained eye might certainly have believed it. “Shouldn’t you be in mourning, lordling?”

 

Tim suppressed the small thrill that Red Hood knew who he was. He determinedly left Red Hood out of his line of sight as he answered. “My mother believed that everything has its time. It’s a waste of time to wish for something that you can’t have.”

  
  


“And if it can be had?” Red Hood’s rough voice rumbled almost tangibly through Tim’s chest. 

 

“Then let it not be said a Drake let anything slip from their grasp,” Tim finally turned his gleaming ice eyes to the thunderstorm blue ones half hidden under the red hood. 

 

“I could almost take that as a challenge, lordling.” Red Hood’s breath whispered across Tim’s ear as he spoke, and Tim hadn’t noticed him move. 

 

“Maybe you should,” Tim said confidently, turning his head to bring their eyes together again, but he was met with empty air. This time there wasn’t even a flash of red. 

 

That night, he was given the report of King Bruce’s entourage being attacked while returning to the palace from Lady Janet’s funeral. He couldn’t seem to find concern, though. His attention was fixed on a small piece of paper that had appeared on his bedside table. 

 

_ Catch me if you can. _

~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”

 

The third time Tim saw the Red Hood, it was in the king’s hall only a year later. Tim’s father had been murdered only a few months before, and King Bruce had taken Tim as his ward, just until he was of legal age to take over his own estate. 

 

Bright red on one of the paintings in the hall caught his eye and he paused to see, nearly freezing when he recognized the face of the Red Hood. In the painting, Red Hood appeared the same age as Tim, frozen in time with a cheeky smirk that was incongruous with his harder demeanor than last time Tim had seen him. This red hood was standing without his hood, clothed in black with gold trim as a member of the king’s household might be. No shade of paint, Tim also noticed, could quite do the boy’s fierce blue eyes justice. 

 

“Master Jason,” a voice came softly from just above Tim’s right shoulder. 

 

Tim whirled to see the palace’s old butler, Pennyworth had gotten the drop on him once again. At least now Tim had the sense to hide his surprise. Keeping his voice light and composed, Tim cleared his throat to answer. “I’ve never seen him here.”

 

“It was very tragic business,” Pennyworth grew wistful, gazing upon the young man’s image. “Master Bruce adopted him when he was twelve. He was murdered by one of Master Bruce’s greatest enemies more than three years ago now.”

 

Adrenaline like ice shot through Tim’s system. Had he been wrong about which boy was in the painting? This Jason would have been dead by the second time Tim had seen the Red Hood. Had he imagined that interaction? Out of grief for his mother’s passing perhaps; an illusion born out of years of obsession. Then… how did he know what the older Jason looked like? The boy in the painting looked so terribly different from the younger one that had held up his family’s carriage those years ago. 

 

“Where was he buried?” Tim murmured. “I think it odd that a member of the royal family should have passed without anyone knowing.”

 

Pennyworth shot him a look that bordered between confused and suspicious. “Master Jason was buried on the palace grounds in a quiet ceremony. We were busy fighting a war at the time. His grave was mutilated and his body stolen barely half a year after he died. Master Bruce and Master Richard were utterly distraught.” If you wish to pay your respects, his headstone still stands.”

 

“I believe I will visit him,” Tim finally tore his gaze from the painting. “Thank you, Pennyworth. I’m sorry for you loss.”

 

Pennyworth nodded in return and stepped aside as Tim made his way out of the palace to visit the royal graveyards. 

 

He felt like a specter, gliding between the resting places of old kings and queens and dukes and duchesses. He finally found his goal on the edges of the graveyard, beneath the waving fingers of a weeping willow. 

 

_ Prince Jason Peter _

_ Beloved son and brother _

_ A good soldier _

_ A robin forever in flight _

 

“You found it.”

 

Tim didn’t have to look up to know who was speaking. He kept his eyes fixed determinedly on the words carved into marble,  afraid some illusion might break and he’d turn to face an undead monster. “How are you here?”

 

“Fate, luck, a horse. Take your pick.” Tim could almost hear the smirk in his words. 

 

“How did you do it?” Tim caught a flicker of red at the corner of his vision. Red Hood must be circling him. “You were only fifteen. Either you’re a genius or someone helped you.”

 

“You could say I was helped. A man named Jack Napier beat me to death and let me burn.”

 

At that Tim shot up to face him, startling briefly that he was so close in front of him. “That’s impossible!” 

 

Tim barely had time to react at the darkening in Red Hood’s eyes just before his hand shot out and closed itself around his windpipe. “Don’t tell me what’s impossible,” he growled. “Impossible is a street thief being adopted by a king. Impossible is dying in agony and waking up six feet underground only to dig myself out and live in even more agony.”

 

Tim finally shook off his shock and pulled himself into the present enough to wrench Red Hood’s (because this man was no longer Jason, if he ever had been) hand around and off his throat. Moving quickly, he yanked the larger man forward, tripping hm over the headstone and using his momentum to twist his arm behind his back. The next thing he knew, Red Hood had thrown him to the ground and was straddling his waist, yanking on his hair to place a knife at his throat. 

 

Red Hood laughed, and Tim felt blood trickling down the side of his neck. “Trained, too. You really are just a pale imitation of me. Guess Brucie goes for the newer younger models when the old one breaks.”

 

“You’re his son,” Tim spat. “Why do this when he would gladly have you back?”

 

“Have me back?” Hood’s second laugh held a bitter note. “More like wants to send me back. That man would rather see me dead. He hates that I have the spine to do what him and his golden boy can’t do. I’m improving this kingdom by getting rid of all the scum.”

 

“No man can be judge and executioner,” Tim said automatically. 

 

“That’s real cute.” Hood released his hair and slid the knife away, cutting further into Tim’s throat. “We’ll see how long it lasts. I’ll catch you later, replacement.”

 

As soon as he was released Tim’s hands flew to the cut on his throat. It was shallow, he would survive. Then as soon as he was able, he was going to drag Jason back to the palace kicking and screaming.

 

“~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~

 

He began to see the Hood more frequently after that. It was only natural after he began dedicating his every waking moment to predicting where Red Hood might be next. No one ever stopped him leaving the palace, though Tim knew someone had to be aware of his disappearances despite his care in stealth. 

 

He found himself going toe to toe with Hood almost nightly, and more than a few times he almost succeeded in bringing him in. He saw Red Hood countless times in those months, but one night, he saw Jason.

 

Tim had scaled the side of a guard tower and was seated atop a crenellation, dangling one leg over the side into darkness as he gazed up at the stars. He was so lost in thought he almost missed the arrival of the presence he had become so attuned to. 

 

“I was noticing a distinct lack of meddling in my activities tonight,” Hood’s gruff voice sent a chill down Tim’s spine as he spoke into his ear. “Is there something up there more interesting than me?”

 

Tim turned to consider Hood. He seemed almost casual this night. His hood was down, revealing the moonlight glinting off the streak of white in his hair and the blue in his eyes. If Tim squinted he could even see that there was a hint of some other lighter color at the roots of his black curls. 

 

Tim shook his head. “I don’t think I could dream of anything more interesting than you. I thought I might give myself a break. Just for one night.”

 

“Oh?” Hood raised an eyebrow and swung himself up to sit next to Tim. “What’s the occasion?”

 

Tim was silent for a moment, staring down at himself. Then, softly, “I turned eighteen today. I have to begin taking care of my family affairs and estate.”

 

Hood gave a long low whistle. “Sounds like a pain. I never did like the trappings of the upper class. I imagine you’ll be happy to have an excuse to stop working the streets with the commoners.”

 

“I don’t know,” Tim shifted so he could look into Hood’s eyes, and—there it was—light dancing in beautiful blue eyes and mischief playing across his lips. This was Jason, the one from the painting in the palace and the thief on the side of the road. There was a real boy under the hood after all. 

 

“You could always leave it,” Jason suggested. “Run off. Who’s going to stop you?”

 

“Nothing but my conscience I suppose,” Tim laughed bitterly. “I owe my parents something at least.”

 

“From what I understand, you don’t owe them much.”

 

Tim started at that. “What would you know about my parents?”

 

Jason shrugged and looked away from him for the first time since he’d approached. “Nothing. I can just guess at what kind of people would leave their son alone that much.”

 

“But how did you know?” Tim pressed. 

 

Jason licked his lips, seeming like he was trying to bring himself to tell some horrible secret. “After I was adopted I kept seeing your parents. Never you. I asked Bruce, he said they were busy, that you were taken care of. I couldn’t see you because I was supposed to be a secret. I still don’t know what that meant. Maybe he was ashamed of me. Maybe he just wanted a spare prince in case something happened to the golden boy.”

 

“Maybe he was trying to save you,” Tim said softly. 

 

“Save himself from embarrassment more like,” Jason scoffed. 

 

Tim turned himself completely, knees brushing against Jason’s as they came face-to-face without violent intentions for the first time. “I doubt it. You don’t seem like the sort who would enjoy the life at court. Too many people, too many rumors. I wish I didn’t have to be part of it.”

 

Jason smirked. “I could always kidnap you. There’s probably a suitable tower somewhere that I can imprison you in. Keep you from ever going back.”

 

“That’s one solution,” Tim dropped his head. “A million choices. None of them are what I want.”

 

“There’s your problem.” Jason stood and batted at his cloak, shaking off the dust. 

“What?” Tim looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows and- oh, was he always that tall?

 

“My advice would be this,” Jason stepped up between the crenellations, stretching his arms out across his chest. He stopped and looked Tim in the eye. “Figure out what it is you want. Then go take it.”

 

With that, he tipped forward and fell into the darkness over the side of the watchtower. Tim craned his neck like that would help him see through the darkness. A few seconds and a thump later, Tim lifted his hand to his face. Laughter bubbled up through his throat and he let it out, loud and long. 

 

When his fit finally subsided, he stared off into the distance where Jason had disappeared. “Go take it.” he muttered to himself. “Like you’re one to talk.”

 

~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~

 

Tim didn’t see the Red Hood for another year after that. He had left Jason to his own devices and chosen instead to care for his parents’ estate and business; his life had been going smoothly. Then the war with Metropolis began. 

 

Tim, as the king’s once ward, was made the leader of a small battalion designed to move quickly and hit hard. It might have been a good strategy initially, but Tim had lost too many people not to be exhausted with it. At this point, he knew, the best they could hope for the end of the war was a stalemate.

 

He huddled over his desk, shivering at the wind blowing through his tent and desperately trying to get work done by the dying light of his candle. As a way out became increasingly further from his grasp, his frustration bubbled up to the surface. With a scream of rage, he swept his hand across his desk, dowsing the candle as it flew across his tent.

 

“It’s a good thing I’m not one of your soldiers,” a voice spoke from behind him. “I might lose faith in my valiant leader’s composure.”

 

“Why are you here?” Tim whispered. “I left you alone, isn’t that what you wanted?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Jason--because that certainly wasn’t the voice of the Red Hood-- said, drawing nearer. “It’s not what I wanted at all. Gets lonely on the streets without someone to play with.”

 

“You’ll have to find someone else then,” Tim dropped his head, refusing to turn and look at Jason. “I have responsibilities.”

 

A pause. “I don’t want someone else, Tim.” 

 

Tim froze at that. “Why are you here?”

 

Fingers grazed the side of Tim’s face and he finally allowed himself to be turned so he could look Jason in the eye. “This war has gone on too long. I don’t want to see you become a casualty.”

 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “That’s all?”

 

“Well, there could be more,” he gave his crooked smirk, then dropped it just as quickly. “Your supply path is blocked, your people are starving. I’m going to take care of it.”

 

Too tired to think of it as a bad idea, Tim scoffed. “We haven’t been able to clear any path for months. What can you do that we can’t?”

 

Jason didn’t answer. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “Better that you don’t know.” 

 

In the moment Tim let himself melt into the kiss, Jason was gone and he was left alone in the dark.

 

~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~””~””~”~”~”~”~”

 

In the next few months, Tim didn’t see Jason again. True to his word, the supply routes were cleared in just a few days. More miraculous feats continued to happen, though no one caught sight of Gotham’s mysterious savior. There were rumors of a team of three led by a man in a red hooded cloak, but he was quickly dismissed as a fairy tale. Tim knew better.

 

Gotham did not win that war. In Tim’s opinion, no one won that war. He returned home missing more people than he cared to count. People that had trusted him and had faith. People he wouldn’t see again for a long time to come. 

 

It was spring the first time Tim held a memorial for those that were lost. The war had been over for only a few months, but most of the dead had already been laid to rest in the royal cemetery, per the king’s orders. 

 

As he wandered the rows of graves, Tim found himself back at the same one he’d been drawn to time and time again.  _ A good soldier. A robin forever in flight. _ He knew now that it was unfitting of the man it had been written for. 

 

A man he could sense now.

 

“You won’t find me there,” his voice whispered in Tim’s ear. No trace of the red hood.

 

“Who said I was looking for you?” Tim craned his neck up and around to look at Jason. 

 

“A man can hope,” he shrugged, hands on Tim’s shoulders to turn him around. “Same way I hoped to see you on the other side of the war.”

 

Tim’s face fell. “I was lucky.”

 

“So remember the people that weren’t,” he spared a look of detest at his own grave. “Remember them the way they were.”

 

“Except for you,” the words tumbled out of Tim’s mouth. “I don’t want to remember you.”

 

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Ouch?”

 

“Remembering is for the past,” he explained. “I want you to be in my present from now on. Stay with me.”

 

Jason covered his face, trying and failing to suppress his laughter. “Yeah, okay.” His fingers entwined with Tim’s. “I’ll do that.”


End file.
